Dear Wilson,--The note and letter from you have taken my breath away. I
couldn't tell--I wouldn't dare tell, how they made me feel.
"Your good news fills me with joy. And when Ben told me you wouldn't
lose your leg--that you would get well--then my eyes filled and my heart
choked me, and I thanked God, who'd answered my prayers. After all the
heartache and dread, it's so wonderful to find things not so terrible as
they seemed. Oh, I am thankful! You have only to take care of yourself
now, to lie patiently and wait, and obey Ben, and soon the time will
have flown by and you will be well again. Maybe, after all, your foot
will not be so bad. Maybe you can ride again, if not so wonderfully as
before, then well enough to ride on your father's range and look after
his stock. For, Wilson dear, you'll have to go home. It's your duty.
Your father must be getting old now. He needs you. He has forgiven
you--you bad boy! And you are very lucky. It almost kills me to think of
your leaving White Slides. But that is selfish. I'm going to learn to be
like Ben Wade. He never thinks of himself.
"Rest assured, Wilson, that I will never marry Jack Belllounds. It seems
years since that awful October first. I gave my word then, and I would
have lived up to it. But I've changed. I'm older. I see things
differently. I love dad as well. I feel as sorry for Jack Belllounds. I
still think I might help him. I still believe in my duty to his father.
But I can't marry him. It would be a sin. I have no right to marry a man
whom I do not love. When it comes to thought of his touching me, then I
hate him. Duty toward dad is one thing, and I hold it high, but that is
not reason enough for a woman to give herself. Some duty to myself is
higher than that. It's hard for me to tell you--for me to understand.
Love of you has opened my eyes. Still I don't think it's love of you
that makes me selfish. I'm true to something in me that I never knew
before. I could marry Jack, loving you, and utterly sacrifice myself, if
it were right. But it would be wrong. I never realized this until you
kissed me. Since then the thought of anything that approaches personal
relations--any hint of intimacy with Jack fills me with disgust.
"So I'm not engaged to Jack Belllounds, and I'm never going to be. There
will be trouble here. I feel it. I see it coming. Dad keeps at me
persistently. He grows older. I don't think he's failing, but then
there's a loss of memory, and an almost childish obsession in regard to
the marriage he has set his heart on. Then his passion for Jack seems
greater as he learns little by little that Jack is not all he might be.
Wilson, I give you my word; I believe if dad ever really sees Jack as I
see him or you see him, then something dreadful will happen. In spite of
everything dad still believes in Jack. It's beautiful and terrible.
That's one reason why I've wanted to help Jack. Well, it's not to be.
Every day, every hour, Jack Belllounds grows farther from me. He and his
father will try to persuade me to consent to this marriage. They may
even try to force me. But in that way I'll be as hard and as cold as Old
White Slides. No! Never! For the rest, I'll do my duty to dad. I'll
stick to him. I could not engage myself to you, no matter how much I
love you. And that's more every minute!... So don't mention taking me
to your home--don't ask me again. Please, Wilson; your asking shook my
very soul! Oh, how sweet that would be--your wife!... But if dad turns
me away--I don't think he would. Yet he's so strange and like iron for
all concerning Jack. If ever he turned me out I'd have no home. I'm a
waif, you know. Then--then, Wilson ... Oh, it's horrible to be in the
position I'm in. I won't say any more. You'll understand, dear.
"It's your love that awoke me, and it's Ben Wade who has saved me.
Wilson, I love him almost as I do dad, only strangely. Do you know I
believe he had something to do with Jack getting drunk that awful
October first. I don't mean Ben would stoop to get Jack drunk. But he
might have cunningly put that opportunity in Jack's way. Drink is Jack's
weakness, as gambling is his passion. Well, I know that the liquor was
some fine old stuff which Ben gave to the cowboys. And it's significant
now how Jack avoids Ben. He hates him. He's afraid of him. He's jealous
because Ben is so much with me. I've heard Jack rave to dad about this.
But dad is just to others, if he can't be to his son.
"And so I want you to know that it's Ben Wade who has saved me. Since
I've been sick I've learned more of Ben. He's like a woman. He
understands. I never have to tell him anything. You, Wilson, were
sometimes stupid or stubborn (forgive me) about little things that girls
feel but can't explain. Ben knows. I tell you this because I want you to
understand how and why I love him. I think I love him most for his
goodness to you. Dear boy, if I hadn't loved you before Ben Wade came
I'd have fallen in love with you since, just listening to his talk of
you. But this will make you conceited. So I'll go on about Ben. He's our
friend. Why, Wilson, that sweetness, softness, gentleness about him,
the heart that makes him love us, that must be only the woman in him. I
don't know what a mother would feel like, but I do know that I seem
strangely happier since I've confessed my troubles to this man. It was
Lem who told me how Ben offered to be a friend to Jack. And Jack flouted
him. I've a queer notion that the moment Jack did this he turned his
back on a better life.
"To repeat, then, Ben Wade is our friend, and to me something more that
I've tried to explain. Maybe telling you this will make you think more
of him and listen to his advice. I hope so. Did any boy and girl ever
before so need a friend? I need that something he instils in me. If I
lost it I'd be miserable. And, Wilson, I'm such a coward. I'm so weak. I
have such sinkings and burnings and tossings. Oh, I'm only a woman! But
I'll die fighting. That is what Ben Wade instils into me. While there
was life this strange little man would never give up hope. He makes me
feel that he knows more than he tells. Through him I shall get the
strength to live up to my convictions, to be true to myself, to be
faithful to you.
"With love,
"COLUMBINE."
"December 3d.
"DEAREST COLLIE,--Your last was only a note, and I told Wade if he
didn't fetch more than a note next time there would be trouble round
this bunk-house. And then he brought your letter!
"I'm feeling exuberant (I think it's that) to-day. First time I've been
up. Collie, I'm able to get up! WHOOPEE! I walk with a crutch, and don't
dare put my foot down. Not that it hurts, but that my boss would have a
fit! I'm glad you've stopped heaping praise upon our friend Ben.
Because now I can get over my jealousy and be half decent. He's the
whitest man I ever knew.
"Now listen, Collie. I've had ideas lately. I've begun to eat and get
stronger and to feel good. The pain is gone. And to think I swore to
Wade I'd forgive Jack Belllounds and never hate him--or kill him!...
There, that's letting the cat out of the bag, and it's done now. But no
matter. The truth is, though, that I never could stop hating Jack while
the pain lasted. Now I could shake hands with him and smile at him.
"Well, as I said, I've ideas. They're great. Grab hold of the pommel now
so you won't get thrown! I'm going to pitch!... When I get well--able to
ride and go about, which Ben says will be in the spring--I'll send for
my father to come to White Slides. He'll come. Then I'll tell him
everything, and if Ben and I can't win him to our side then _you_ can.
Father never could resist you. When he has fallen in love with you,
which won't take long, then we'll go to old Bill Belllounds and lay the
case before him. Are you still in the saddle, Collie?
"Well, if you are, be sure to get a better hold, for I'm going to run
some next. Ben Wade approved of my plan. He says Belllounds can be
brought to reason. He says he can make him see the ruin for everybody
were you forced to marry Jack. Strange, Collie, how Wade included
himself with, you, me, Jack, and the old man, in the foreshadowed ruin!
Wade is as deep as the caƱon there. Sometimes when he's thoughtful he
gives me a creepy feeling. At others, when he comes out with one of his
easy, cool assurances that we are all right--that we will get each
other--why, then something grim takes possession of me. I believe him,
I'm happy, but there crosses my mind a fleeting realization--not of what
our friend is now, but what he has been. And it disturbs me, chills me.
I don't understand it. For, Collie, though I understand your feeling of
what he is, I don't understand mine. You see, I'm a man. I've been a
cowboy for ten years and more. I've seen some hard experiences and
worked with a good many rough boys and men. Cowboys, Indians, Mexicans,
miners, prospectors, ranchers, hunters--some of whom were bad medicine.
So I've come to see men as you couldn't see them. And Bent Wade has been
everything a man could be. He seems all men in one. And despite all his
kindness and goodness and hopefulness, there is the sense I have of
something deadly and terrible and inevitable in him.
"It makes my heart almost stop beating to know I have this man on my
side. Because I sense in him the man element, the physical--oh, I can't
put it in words, but I mean something great in him that can't be beaten.
What he says _must_ come true!... And so I've already begun to dream and
to think of you as my wife. If you ever are--no! _when_ you are, then I
will owe it to Bent Wade. No man ever owed another for so precious a
gift. But, Collie, I can't help a little vague dread--of what, I don't
know, unless it's a sense of the possibilities of Hell--Bent Wade....
Dearest, I don't want to worry you or frighten you, and I can't follow
out my own gloomy fancies. Don't you mind too much what I think. Only
you must realize that Wade is the greatest factor in our hopes of the
future. My faith in him is so unshakable that it's foolish. Next to you
I love him best. He seems even dearer to me than my own people. He has
made me look at life differently. Likewise he has inspired you. But you,
dearest Columbine, are only a sensitive, delicate girl, a frail and
tender thing like the columbine flowers of the hills. And for your own
sake you must not be blind to what Wade is capable of. If you keep on
loving him and idealizing him, blind to what has made him great, that
is, blind to the tragic side of him, then if he did something terrible
here for you and for me the shock would be bad for you. Lord knows I
have no suspicions of Wade. I have no clear ideas at all. But I do know
that for you he would not stop at anything. He loves you as much as I
do, only differently. Such power a pale, sweet-faced girl has over the
lives of men!
"Good-by for this time.
"Faithfully,
"WILSON."
"January 10th.
"DEAR WILSON,--In every letter I tell you I'm better! Why, pretty soon
there'll be nothing left to say about my health. I've been up and around
now for days, but only lately have I begun to gain. Since Jack has been
away I'm getting fat. I eat, and that's one reason I suppose. Then I
move around more.
"You ask me to tell you all I do. Goodness! I couldn't and I wouldn't.
You are getting mighty bossy since you're able to hobble around, as you
call it. But you can't boss _me!_ However, I'll be nice and tell you a
little. I don't work very much. I've helped dad with his accounts, all
so hopelessly muddled since he let Jack keep the books. I read a good
deal. Your letters are worn out! Then, when it snows, I sit by the
window and watch. I love to see the snowflakes fall, so fleecy and white
and soft! But I don't like the snowy world after the storm has passed. I
shiver and hug the fire. I must have Indian in me. On moonlit nights to
look out at Old White Slides, so cold and icy and grand, and over the
white hills and ranges, makes me shudder. I don't know why. It's all
beautiful. But it seems to me like death.... Well, I sit idly a lot and
think of you and how terribly big my love has grown, and ... but that's
all about that!
"As you know, Jack has been gone since before New Year's Day. He said he
was going to Kremmling. But dad heard he went to Elgeria. Well, I didn't
tell you that dad and Jack quarreled over money. Jack kept up his good
behavior for so long that I actually believed he'd changed for the
better. He kept at me, not so much on the marriage question, but to love
him. Wilson, he nearly drove me frantic with his lovemaking. Finally I
got mad and I pitched into him. Oh, I convinced him! Then he came back
to his own self again. Like a flash he was Buster Jack once more. "You
can go to hell!" he yelled at me. And such a look!... Well, he went out,
and that's when he quarreled with dad. It was about money. I couldn't
help but hear some of it. I don't know whether or not dad gave Jack
money, but I think he didn't. Anyway, Jack went.
"Dad was all right for a few days. Really, he seemed nicer and kinder
for Jack's absence. Then all at once he sank into the glooms. I couldn't
cheer him up. When Ben Wade came in after supper dad always got him to
tell some of those terrible stories. You know what perfectly terrible
stories Ben can tell. Well, dad had to hear the worst ones. And poor me,
I didn't want to listen, but I couldn't resist. Ben _can_ tell stories.
And oh, what he's lived through!
"I got the idea it wasn't Jack's absence so much that made dad sit by
the hour before the fire, staring at the coals, sighing, and looking so
God-forsaken. My heart just aches for dad. He broods and broods. He'll
break out some day, and then I don't want to be here. There doesn't seem
to be any idea when Jack will come home. He might never come. But Ben
says he will. He says Jack hates work and that he couldn't be gambler
enough or wicked enough to support himself without working. Can't you
hear Ben Wade say that? 'I'll tell you,' he begins, and then comes a
prophecy of trouble or evil. And, on the other hand, think how he used
to say: 'Wait! Don't give up! Nothin' is ever so bad as it seems at
first! Be true to what your heart says is right! It's never too late!
Love is the only good in life! Love each other and wait and trust! It'll
all come right in the end!'... And, Wilson, I'm bound to confess that
both his sense of calamity and his hope of good seem infallible. Ben
Wade is supernatural. Sometimes, just for a moment, I dare to let myself
believe in what he says--that our dream will come true and I'll be
yours. Then oh! oh! oh! joy and stars and bells and heaven! I--I ... But
what _am_ I writing? Wilson Moore, this is quite enough for to-day. Take
care you don't believe I'm so--so _very_ much in love.
"Ever,
"COLUMBINE."
"_February_ ----.
"DEAREST COLLIE,--I don't know the date, but spring's coming. To-day I
kicked Bent Wade with my once sore foot. It didn't hurt me, but hurt
Wade's feelings. He says there'll be no holding me soon. I should say
not. I'll eat you up. I'm as hungry as the mountain-lion that's been
prowling round my cabin of nights. He's sure starved. Wade tracked him
to a hole in the cliff.
"Collie, I can get around first rate. Don't need my crutch any more. I
can make a fire and cook a meal. Wade doesn't think so, but I do. He
says if I want to hold your affection, not to let you eat anything I
cook. I can rustle around, too. Haven't been far yet. My stock has
wintered fairly well. This valley is sheltered, you know. Snow hasn't
been too deep. Then I bought hay from Andrews. I'm hoping for spring
now, and the good old sunshine on the gray sage hills. And summer, with
its columbines! Wade has gone back to his own cabin to sleep. I miss
him. But I'm glad to have the nights alone once more. I've got a future
to plan! Read that over, Collie.
"To-day, when Wade came with your letter, he asked me, sort of queer,
'Say, Wils, do you know how many letters I've fetched you from Collie?'
I said, 'Lord, no, I don't, but they're a lot.' Then he said there were
just forty-seven letters. Forty-seven! I couldn't believe it, and told
him he was crazy. I never had such good fortune. Well, he made me count
them, and, dog-gone it, he was right. Forty-seven wonderful love-letters
from the sweetest girl on earth! But think of Wade remembering every
one! It beats me. He's beyond understanding.
"So Jack Belllounds still stays away from White Slides. Collie, I'm sure
sorry for his father. What it would be to have a son like Buster Jack!
My God! But for your sake I go around yelling and singing like a locoed
Indian. Pretty soon spring will come. Then, you wild-flower of the
hills, you girl with the sweet mouth and the sad eyes--then I'm coming
after you! And all the king's horses and all the king's men can never
take you away from me again!
"Your faithful
"WILSON."
"March 19th.
"DEAREST WILSON,--Your last letters have been read and reread, and kept
under my pillow, and have been both my help and my weakness during these
trying days since Jack's return.
"It has not been that I was afraid to write--though, Heaven knows, if
this letter should fall into the hands of dad it would mean trouble for
me, and if Jack read it--I _am_ afraid to think of that! I just have not
had the heart to write you. But all the time I knew I must write and
that I would. Only, now, what to say tortures me. I am certain that
confiding in you relieves me. That's why I've told you so much. But of
late I find it harder to tell what I know about Jack Belllounds. I'm in
a queer state of mind, Wilson dear. And you'll wonder, and you'll be
sorry to know I haven't seen much of Ben lately--that is, not to talk
to. It seems I can't _bear_ his faith in me, his hope, his love--when
lately matters have driven me into torturing doubt.
"But lest you might misunderstand, I'm going to try to tell you
something of what is on my mind, and I want you to read it to Ben. He
has been hurt by my strange reluctance to be with him.
"Jack came home on the night of March second. You'll remember that day,
so gloomy and dark and dreary. It snowed and sleeted and rained. I
remember how the rain roared on the roof. It roared so loud we didn't
hear the horse. But we heard heavy boots on the porch outside the
living-room, and the swish of a slicker thrown to the floor. There was a
bright fire. Dad looked up with a wild joy. All of a sudden he changed.
He blazed. He recognized the heavy tread of his son. If I ever pitied
and loved him it was then. I thought of the return of the Prodigal
Son!... There came a knock on the door. Then dad recovered. He threw it
open wide. The streaming light fell upon Jack Belllounds, indeed, but
not as I knew him. He entered. It was the first time I ever saw Jack
look in the least like a man. He was pale, haggard, much older, sullen,
and bold. He strode in with a 'Howdy, folks,' and threw his wet hat on
the floor, and walked to the fire. His boots were soaked with water and
mud. His clothes began to steam.
"When I looked at dad I was surprised. He seemed cool and bright, with
the self-contained force usual for him when something critical is about
to happen.
"'Ahuh! So you come back,' he said.
"'Yes, I'm home,' replied Jack.
"'Wal, it took you quite a spell to get hyar.'
"'Do you want me to stay?'
"This question from Jack seemed to stump dad. He stared. Jack had
appeared suddenly, and his manner was different from that with which he
used to face dad. He had something up his sleeve, as the cowboys say. He
wore an air of defiance and indifference.
"'I reckon I do,' replied dad, deliberately. 'What do you mean by askin'
me thet?'
"'I'm of age, long ago. You can't make me stay home. I can do as I
like.'
"'Ahuh! I reckon you think you can. But not hyar at White Slides. If you
ever expect to get this property you'll not do as you like.'
"'To hell with that. I don't care whether I ever get it or not.'
"Dad's face went as white as a sheet. He seemed shocked. After a moment
he told me I'd better go to my room. I was about to go when Jack said:
'No, let her stay. She'd best hear now what I've got to say. It
concerns her.'
"'So ho! Then you've got a heap to say?' exclaimed dad, queerly. 'All
right, you have your say first.'
"Jack then began to talk in a level and monotonous voice, so unlike him
that I sat there amazed. He told how early in the winter, before he left
the ranch, he had found out that he was honestly in love with me. That
it had changed him--made him see he had never been any good--and
inflamed him with the resolve to be better. He had tried. He had
succeeded. For six weeks he had been all that could have been asked of
any young man. I am bound to confess that he was!... Well, he went on to
say how he had fought it out with himself until he absolutely _knew_ he
could control himself. The courage and inspiration had come from his
love for me. That was the only good thing he'd ever felt. He wanted dad
and he wanted me to understand absolutely, without any doubt, that he
had found a way to hold on to his good intentions and good feelings. And
that was for _me!_... I was struck all a-tremble at the truth. It was
true! Well, then he forced me to a decision. Forced me, without ever
hinting of this change, this possibility in him. I had told him I
_couldn't_ love him. Never! Then he said I could go to hell and he gave
up. Failing to get money from dad he stole it, without compunction and
without regret! He had gone to Kremmling, then to Elgeria.
"'I let myself go,' he said, without shame, 'and I drank and gambled.
When I was drunk I didn't remember Collie. But when I was sober I did.
And she haunted me. That grew worse all the time. So I drank to forget
her.... The money lasted a great deal longer than I expected. But that
was because I won as much as I lost, until lately. Then I borrowed a
good deal from those men I gambled with, but mostly from ranchers who
knew my father would be responsible.... I had a shooting-scrape with a
man named Elbert, in Smith's place at Elgeria. We quarreled over cards.
He cheated. And when I hit him he drew on me. But he missed. Then I shot
him.... He lived three days--and died. That sobered me. And once more
there came to me truth of what I might have been. I went back to
Kremmling. And I tried myself out again. I worked awhile for Judson, who
was the rancher I had borrowed most from. At night I went into town and
to the saloons, where I met my gambling cronies. I put myself in the
atmosphere of drink and cards. And I resisted both. I could make myself
indifferent to both. As soon as I was sure of myself I decided to come
home. And here I am.'
"This long speech of Jack's had a terrible effect upon me. I was stunned
and sick. But if it did that to me _what_ did it do to dad? Heaven
knows, I can't tell you. Dad gave a lurch, and a great heave, as if at
the removal of a rope that had all but strangled him.
"Ahuh-huh!' he groaned. 'An' now you're hyar--what's thet mean?'
"It means that it's not yet too late,' replied Jack. 'Don't
misunderstand me. I'm not repenting with that side of me which is bad.
But I've sobered up. I've had a shock. I see my ruin. I still love you,
dad, despite--the cruel thing you did to me. I'm your son and I'd like
to make up to you for all my shortcomings. And so help me Heaven! I can
do that, and will do it, if Collie will marry me. Not only marry
me--that'd not be enough--but love me--I'm crazy for her love. It's
terrible.'
"You spoiled weaklin'!' thundered dad. 'How 'n hell can I believe you?'
"Because I know it,' declared Jack, standing right up to his father,
white and unflinching.
"Then dad broke out in such a rage that I sat there scared so stiff I
could not move. My heart beat thick and heavy. Dad got livid of face,
his hair stood up, his eyes rolled. He called Jack every name I ever
heard any one call him, and then a thousand more. Then he cursed him.
Such dreadful curses! Oh, how sad and terrible to hear dad!
"Right you are!' cried Jack, bitter and hard and ringing of voice.
'Right, by God! But am I all to blame? Did I bring myself here on this
earth!... There's something wrong in me that's not all my fault.... You
can't shame me or scare me or hurt me. I could fling in your face those
damned three years of hell you sent me to! But what's the use for you to
roar at me or for me to reproach you? I'm ruined unless you give me
Collie--make her love me. That will save me. And I want it for your sake
and hers--not for my own. Even if I do love her madly I'm not wanting
her for that. I'm no good. I'm not fit to touch her.... I've just come
to tell you the truth. I feel for Collie--I'd do for Collie--as you did
for my mother! Can't you understand? I'm your son. I've some of you in
me. And I've found out what it is. Do you and Collie want to take me
at my word?'
"I think it took dad longer to read something strange and convincing in
Jack than it took me. Anyway, dad got the stunning consciousness that
Jack _knew_ by some divine or intuitive power that his reformation was
inevitable, if I loved him. Never have I had such a distressing and
terrible moment as that revelation brought to me! I felt the truth. I
could save Jack Belllounds. No woman is ever fooled at such critical
moments of life. Ben Wade once said that I could have reformed Jack were
it possible to love him. Now the truth of that came home to me, and
somehow it was overwhelming.
"Dad received this truth--and it was beyond me to realize what it meant
to him. He must have seen all his earlier hopes fulfilled, his pride
vindicated, his shame forgotten, his love rewarded. Yet he must have
seen all that, as would a man leaning with one foot over a bottomless
abyss. He looked transfigured, yet conscious of terrible peril. His
great heart seemed to leap to meet this last opportunity, with all
forgiveness, with all gratitude; but his will yielded with a final and
irrevocable resolve. A resolve dark and sinister!
"He raised his huge fists higher and higher, and all his body lifted and
strained, towering and trembling, while his face was that of a righteous
and angry god.
"'My son, I take your word!' he rolled out, his voice filling the room
and reverberating through the house. 'I give you Collie!... She will be
yours!... But, by the love I bore your mother--I swear--if you ever
steal again--I'll kill you!'
"I can't say any more--
"COLUMBINE."